11. Kate #2
The drawer finally gives, jerking open with a wooden groan. My hand closes around the cold steel body of the stun gun, fingers curling tight enough to make my knuckles burn.
The weight of it settles into my palm, reassuring me.
A sharp ache wedges itself into my chest, cutting right through the fear, a soft, desperate thought sneaking past all the others.
Noah . If he were here, his steady voice, the sure way I’m certain his body would slot between me and anything dangerous, I wouldn’t feel like this. I wouldn’t feel alone.
The thought is a mistake. I bite down on it hard, forcing it back the way I’ve done with a hundred others. My jaw clenches tight, and I wrap both hands around the handle, clicking the on button with a shaky thumb.
You don’t need saving. You’ve got this.
I swallow hard and step toward the door, each footfall slow and careful, as if I can pin down my nerves one board at a time.
My free hand finds the knob, slick with sweat, and I curl my fingers around it, pressing my forehead to the cool wood for half a second just to catch the breath I lost somewhere along the way.
One.
Two.
Three.
I push, and the door flies open.
I look around wildly, brandishing the stun gun, but I stop short at the sight of Blaze.
Hold on, Blaze ?
The big Retriever plants himself on the porch like he owns it, tail thudding against the deck, tongue lolling out in an easy, crooked smile like this is a usual late-night visit. His head tilts, ears perked, dark eyes bright with the kind of loyalty only dogs seem to master.
The adrenaline caves out of me so fast my knees nearly buckle, and the breath I’ve been strangling comes rushing free, part laugh, part gasp. My fingers fall away from the stun gun, the hard edge of fear melting into something feather-soft and shaky.
“Blaze,” I whisper, the name falling from my lips like a prayer I didn’t know I was saying.
The moment my voice hits the air, he lumbers forward and nudges his nose against my hand, rough tongue sweeping across my skin, washing away every last bit of tension still clinging to me.
Before I can catch my breath, he barrels past me, paws clicking softly against the floor, head down, nose twitching like a compass locked on one single point.
I follow him, barefoot and lightheaded, watching the sway of his tail as he moves through the house with purpose, sniffing his way toward the one room I don’t need to ask about. Parker’s.
His tail wags faster when he reaches the door, and he sinks to the floor like a soldier reporting for duty, his nose pressed to the gap beneath the wood, ears flicking at every soft sound from inside. A quiet huff escapes him, like even now, he’s standing guard. Like he missed him.
He raises a paw, rests it against the door, and turns his head back at me expectantly. He’s waiting for me to open the door . I can’t resist a smile as I push the door open.
I watch him pad across the room, nose twitching, paws light on the wooden floor until he reaches Parker’s bed. He hops up with the softest rustle of blankets and tucks himself in close, settling his head against Parker’s side.
Parker stirs, his small body instinctively curling into the warmth, a tiny, sleepy hum pushing past his lips as his arm flops over Blaze’s neck, fingers digging into the thick fur like it’s the most natural thing in the world. This is exactly where he belongs.
The tight, knotted place inside me loosens, unfurling slowly and tender around the edges. I should worry about Parker getting too attached to a dog that isn’t his, about how fast all of this is becoming normal, but I don’t.
Not tonight. The sight is too honest, too pure. I can’t fight the obvious bond between them.
I pull the door halfway closed, leaving enough space for the soft sounds of Parker’s breathing to drift out, and my bare feet carry me back through the house toward the front door.
The night air slips through the open frame, cool against my skin, and for a moment, I linger there, fingers brushing over the door as I reach for the door knob.
I should call Noah. Let him know Blaze is here.
But the thought stalls almost as fast as it comes, sinking heavily in the space between want and reality.
I don’t have his number. I never asked. He never gave it.
My thumb hovers over the lock, mind tumbling over the same loop until the quiet is broken by the soft crunch of footsteps threading through the grass.
I lean forward to check the sound out, and there he is.
Noah.
Moving toward me like the night built him from scratch, his body a map of moonlight and shadow. He has on gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips, loose and soft, clinging in all the places my eyes shouldn’t linger but do.
His chest is bare, broad and golden, scattered with freckles, the faint sheen of his skin catching the porch light like the last piece of a dream I wasn’t ready to wake from. Does he make it a habit to walk around with no shirt?
Heat coils deep and low, blooming through me like wildfire, unspooling in slow, pulsing waves that make my knees feel unsteady. My body reacts without permission, every nerve suddenly too aware of his nearness, the way he moves, the quiet power behind each step.
God, the sight of him is almost too much.
I don’t even pretend not to look. I let my gaze drag over him, slow and shameless, watching the flex of muscle and the soft sway of his stride. My thighs press tight, an ache blooming where I’m already too aware of every beat of my own pulse.
His voice cuts through the stretch of air between us, low and rough, pulling me back from the edge. “Hey, sorry to bother you. You seen Blaze?”
I hear the words, but my mind doesn’t cooperate. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I lift my hand instead, pointing back toward the hallway, the only answer I can manage while my brain scrambles to catch up with the heat flooding my body.
His brow lifts, a small flicker of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth, like he knows the mess he’s made of me. His voice softens, easy and patient. “Mind if I come in?”
All I can do is nod.
He steps inside, bare feet brushing against the hardwood, and I lead him wordlessly down the hall, my body thrumming with nervous energy.
At Parker’s door, I ease it open wide enough for him to see Parker and Blaze curled against each other, tangled in blankets and trust, two steady heartbeats tucked safely in the same cocoon.
Noah doesn’t say a word. The look on his face says everything. His gaze lingers on them for a long, quiet moment, and then he shifts back, stepping away from the door, his expression soft and unreadable.
“I guess he has a bed for tonight, better not intrude.”
I still can’t say a word.
I trail him back into the kitchen, the air thick with the scent of chamomile and the faint trace of him; wood, pine, and something warm and masculine that sinks deep into my lungs. My mug still sits where I left it, cold and untouched,
His eyes flick toward the mug, then back to me. “You couldn’t sleep?” he says, his voice low, almost gentle, not quite a question.
I nod, my throat too tight for words; I’m too aware of him. All I can see is how his eyes drag over me slowly, sensually. The way his gaze skims from my bare feet to the soft curve of my hips, lingering along the thin strap of my camisole, up to the wild mess of my hair.
My skin flushes, prickling hot, my pulse skittering as if his eyes alone could set me on fire, and when it happens, I don’t miss the sharp, unmistakable shift in his body as his length swells deliciously.
His breath comes slower, deeper, and there’s no mistaking the hard line pressing against the soft gray fabric of his sweatpants. His arousal strains against the cotton, impossible to miss, and God help me, the sight makes the ache low in my belly twist even tighter.
Why am I holding back so much? Why deny myself of the one thing I haven't let myself want in a long time.
I haven’t let anyone get close to me this way since Ethan’s death; it had been years since I trusted my body to someone else’s hands and longer still since I trusted myself to want it.
I don’t mean to let Noah get to me either, but he makes my breath catch, my skin flush, and my heart race without trying so hard. He hasn’t asked anything of me. No pressure, no expectations. But I still want him so much.
I raise my gaze to his, and I tremble inside at how he watches me; his gaze roams over me as though he wants to unravel me, peel the clothes from my body until I’m bare in front of him. His presence doesn’t just stir my body, it wakes something in me I thought had gone quiet for good.
My gaze drifts to his mouth, firm, slightly parted, and he looks as if he’s holding back as much as I am. My fingers itch to touch him. I clench my inner walls, trying to smother the throb that’s been building slowly, insistently, ever since he walked in.
It isn’t just lust. It’s the hunger to feel again…really feel . Not with guilt shadowing every beat of it, not with fear trailing behind.
Just me and this moment. Me reclaiming something I buried when life demanded I be a mother instead of a woman. My lips part, but no sound comes yet. The words in my mind hover like smoke, fragile and warm and terrifying.
So, I breathe and stare at him. At the heat in his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the stillness of someone who would wait forever if I asked.
And suddenly, I’m not afraid of wanting.
I lift my eyes, locking onto his. My voice barely makes it past the tangle of heat and want tightening my chest.
“I want to kiss you.”
His jaw flexes, a sharp flicker of restraint flashing behind his eyes. And I wait-breath held, body burning, pulse stuttering.